in the far, far future we
will all live in tin cans

I was there
Beneath it all
Stubbing my nose
Catching my eyes
On the most soulful of gifts

There was a promenade
Then music
A chef in a tall white hat
Shouting at the top of his lungs
As cracked eggs
Desperately tried
To reimagine themselves
As whole again.

They did not wish to change.

I am a poem
And I am nothing

I am a man
And I am nothing

I am a before
Yet to embark
On an after

Could this be it?

I think of
What could have been
If I had done this
If I had done that
And switch
Paralyzed.

The horizon
Fades at dusk

And is reimagined
At dawn

How I wish
I were content
To be ok
With such a simple

Routine

Progress
Achievements
Recognition
Advancement
Aw­ards

Realization

The ***** turns to tighten
To hold
Only to rust
Be forgotten
Put in the back of the pantry
Read from afar

The days of the sun
Are over

Darknesses lengths
Are upon us

Taste of the hubris of the moon
Its position is fixed
Such a fact, such a reserved space

Where will the moon go
But anywhere
But here?

And of us?
Where will our bones go?
Our me minds?
Our fleeting psyche?

The I is none other
But the billionth petal
Of a flaming sunflower
In a field
Surrounded by the identical

Taste ash
Mixed with honey
As the buzz of the bees

Fade.

keep your eyes closed love.

           e     t      
       m           i
    o                 m
s                        e  
                            s     all you have to
                                                                ­
                                                                ­ l                  to is what the sound
                                                           ­      i            n
                                                  ­                s           e
                                                               ­          t

                                                              ­                               v
                                                               ­                         a        e
                             ­                                          of the  w               s
                                                               ­                                       
                         ­                                                                 ­            tells  you
                                                                ­                                        to do.

will we ever get back
to where we wish we were
will it be any different
than it was before
will we mark it down
as lessons learned
the moment we found
we wish that we were
or will it be
that our bridges were burned
over the muddy waters of
lessons never learned